And If Thou Wilt, Remember
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: A collection of S10-related one-shots and tags. #5: Hey, Sam?: While on the road, the boys have a talk. Tag to 10.05, "Fan Fiction".
1. Bête Noire

**Disclaimer:** Of course I don't own them.

**Author's Note: **Another season, another set of tags. I'm wondering if I'll be able to tag every episode _this _season… Wouldn't count on it, but it's fun to try. *g*

This particular tag is intend as the first half of a two-parter, but the second part will only go up after Dean's cured.

**Summary:** Dean's having fun. Crowley is careful. Tag to 10.01, _Black_.

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><p><strong>Bête Noire<strong>

Being a demon is _fun_.

Dean's missed fun. He remembers having it, once upon a time before Abaddon, before Purgatory, before Lucifer and Ruby and Alastair and Azazel. Before Sam got all intense and serious.

Of course, Dean was stupid to let Sam's broodiness affect him. He realizes that now. Sam's always got _some_ problem, dying from the trials, or Lucifer in his head, or demon blood, and Dean's always the one stuck trying to fix it. And, come on, Sam's a grown man, and it's not Dean's fault he's too much of a helpless little brat to clean up his own messes. Dean should've stopped holding his hand _years _ago.

Well, better late than never.

Dean Winchester is officially, finally, officially and absolutely, finished picking up after Sam. Just like he told the guy on the phone – Dean has a vague feeling he knows his name, but it's not worth trying to remember.

Sam got himself caught, probably doing something stupid like trying to find Dean when Dean specifically, categorically said he didn't want to be found.

Not that he expected it to work. Sam's just as stubborn as their Dad ever was.

He'd be worried, but Sam doesn't have Dad's nerve. If Dad had been alive, he'd've done anything necessary to 'save' Dean, and that would've included killing him once he realized Dean wasn't about to let himself be cured.

Sam's not going to kill him. He might talk big and think he can, he might go so far as putting the knife to Dean's throat, but when it comes to the point, Sam'll back down. Dean knows that now, because after all Sam's big talk about letting each other go for the greater good, when Dean was dead Sam did exactly what they'd _both _sworn never to do and summoned a demon to make a deal.

Dean scoffs.

That's all done with.

He even feels a little sorry for Phone Guy. He probably knows, or heard about, the old Dean, who was an idiot and a pushover and would've dropped everything and gone running to prevent precious baby Sammy from getting a paper cut.

New Dean… Well, New Dean knows better. Sam got himself into this mess. Sam can get himself out of it.

He has to admit, though, Sam seems to have got with the new program quick enough. He didn't sound like he expected a rescue… Of course, he didn't make a sound at all until Phone Guy hit him. Stubborn.

If he _does _get himself out of this – that's a possibility, as long as Sam's death wish doesn't get in the way – it might be best for Dean to kill him. That'll prevent people from using him to get to Dean –

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

What is he _thinking_?

It's _perfect _if people use Sam to get to Dean. It'll be a while before people who knew the _old _him, stupid nursemaid Dean, realize he's changed, if they ever do. Sam's ridiculous sense of loyalty will keep him from telling anyone Dean's a demon, in case other hunters come after him. So Sam'll keep putting himself out there like the idiot he is, and Dean's enemies will get to him, and it'll be perfect because that'll keep them from getting to the things that_actually _matter to Dean now.

Like…

Well, there's only one thing that matters to Dean now.

Dean smirks to himself.

He'll have to kill Sam if the kid looks like finding a way to 'cure' him. If there's one thing Dean knows, it's that he doesn't want to go back to being the dumbass who didn't realize how much easier his life would be if he learnt to –

There's a cleared throat next to him.

Dean scowls. "What do you want, Crowley? I told you, I'm not interested in your stupid plan. World domination is pointless, and it has a high mortality rate. Give me beer and girls for eternity and I'm good."

"I can see that." Crowley sits, uninvited, next to Dean at the bar, signaling to the bartender for a drink. "I thought you might want to know that some ex-military man named Cole has your brother."

"Phone Guy? Yeah, I spoke to him already." Dean grins into his beer. It's so much fun doing the opposite of what people expect. "I told him Sam brought this on himself. I'm not running after him. And he can tell Sam that while he slits his throat."

Crowley chokes on his first sip of whiskey and soda. "You… You think Sam's going to get his throat slit?"

Dean shrugs. "Probably not. He's got a way of getting out of trouble. Sometimes. Hey, Crowley?"

"Yes?" Crowley asks warily.

"You're good at… scheming and stuff, right? Plotting?"

"You're talking to the man – well, demon – who rose from being an unknown downtrodden peasant in Scotland to King of Hell. Of course I'm good at scheming."

"Good, maybe you can help me out. You think I should kill Sam? If Phone Guy doesn't do it for me?"

Crowley puts down his glass, looking at Dean carefully. "Is this a trick question? Are you going to hack me to pieces with that little knife of yours if I don't answer right?"

"No, no, I'm serious. Listen. I need some advice."

"Wait." Crowley takes out his cell phone, flicks through a couple of screens, and puts it on the bar between them. "I'm recording this. I hope you don't mind. Lawyer's orders."

"You have a lawyer?"

"I'm King of Hell! Go on, now, tell me about the advice you need."

Dean's not an idiot, either. "You're recording this to send Sam, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't do that. I'm recording this as insurance."

"Insurance?"

"On the off-chance – the very remote chance – that Moose finds a way to turn you… _back _into what you used to be –"

"You think he will?"

"I've learnt not to underestimate Winchesters. Anyway, if he does, I need to make sure you two don't come after me. How do you think human Dean would react to knowing that, if I die, Sam's going to receive a recording of this entire conversation in every email account he has and on all his cell phones?"

"Sam's not going to turn me human."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about. Humour me."

Dean shrugs. "Whatever makes you happy, man. You need the sound of my voice to put you to sleep at night, just say so."

"I'd rather have Sam. Imagine how I could make him _scream _for me."

"You trying to get me riled up?"

"Just testing the waters. So… Does this mean Sam Winchester is no longer off-limits? I can tell my demons he's fair game for anyone who can take him down?"

"That's what I wanted to consult you about. Do you think I need to kill him?"

"The answer to that question is always yes."

"I don't want him to turn me back. But the good thing about having him alive is that he's a distraction. Anyone who's anti-Winchester will go for him first. He's the easier target."

"You realize that won't last much longer?"

"You think Phone Guy's going to manage to kill him?"

"He's _mortal_, Dean. You're not. Not anymore."

"Sam's mortal," Dean says thoughtfully, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That's _awesome_."

"That's how I look at it whenever a hunter gets too close."

"How long do you think he'll live? I mean, Lucifer and the trials and all that… _Has _to have messed up his body, right? You think Castiel's healing fixed it?"

"Doesn't matter. Hunters don't have much in the way of life expectancy anyway. But that doesn't answer your question. If you really want to be sure he doesn't turn you back…"

"Kid's stubborn."

"He is."

"You know how much easier our lives would've been if Sam hadn't been _Sam_? Man, I was so stupid working so hard to keep him safe. If I'd known how liberating this would be, I'd've stopped worrying about Sam years ago."

"In fact, you think your life would have been far better without Sam in it."

Dean laughs. "You're trying to make me say stuff you think you can use to blackmail me. Just as stupid as Phone Guy. My life would've been _way _better without Sam in it, and you can tell him I said so." Dean takes another gulp of beer. "You're right. I should get him out of the way. It'll suit both of us. He's always whining about how he's willing to die. And me… Even if he does take the demon out of me, or whatever, I'm not going back to being _that _Dean. Not now that I know how much better this is."

"You may find that Sam's harder to kill than you think. I should know."

"For you, maybe. I taught the kid all his moves. I can take him down. And I have one advantage you don't."

"Maybe you do." Crowley picks up his phone. "So… Are you going to kill him?"

Dean opens his mouth to say yes and –

Hesitates.

"Not if he stays out of my way," he says at last. "I said I'd leave him alone if he didn't try to come after me. I'm a man of my word."

"Are you? That's new."

"I'm a demon now. I have to keep my end of the deal."

"All right then." Crowley throws back his whiskey and gets to his feet. "It's not breaking your word if I send someone after him, is it?"

Dean grins. "Have at it."

"You threatened to kill Cole."

"He tried to blackmail me. Are you trying to blackmail me?"

Crowley looks down at his phone. "Believe me, Dean," he says. "When I try to blackmail you, I'll be making sure I can threaten to do something you would go to any lengths to prevent."

"If your guys manage to kill Sam, neither of us has anything to worry about."

"If," Crowley agrees.

But his expression is wary as he gets to his feet.

Dean watches Crowley walk off and turns to the bartender. She's hot and blonde and desperate, if the way she's undone her top two buttons is any indication.

"Hey, sweetheart," Dean drawls.

"Hey yourself." She puts another beer in front of him. "On the house." She leans on the bar, making sure he has a good view down her shirt, before saying, "So how are _you_ today?"

Dean's a demon. He's forgotten how to feel and Crowley's off arranging to assassinate his brother.

He smiles slowly. "Never better, sweetheart."

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	2. I Would

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note:** I wasn't sure if I could, but here it is! So far, so good.

I wrote this from Crowley's PoV mainly because I want to keep Sam's for the next episode. I'm sure it's going to be _epic_.

**Summary: **Crowley needs to make a call. He can't help hesitating.

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><p><strong>I Would<strong>

Crowley thinks he can be forgiven for having taken so long to figure out how out of control Dean was. It's not like Dean's ever been _in _control, not really. He's always been a simmering cauldron of anger and resentment just barely held in check. And ever since he took the Mark of Cain…

It's a miracle he lasted as long as he did before his eyes went black, and most of that miracle is probably because of Sam pulling Dean back from the edge every time he used the Firstblade.

It's ironic. Fitting. Poetic. A lot of things. The power of a weapon of fratricide, and the only thing that can disrupt it is –

Crowley laughs under his breath. He's getting as sentimental as little Samantha. Well, _big _Samantha.

And now he has a problem.

Crowley knows all about evil. He knows enough to know that having him as King of Hell is actually good for humanity. He's not a saint by any means, and he has certain… unusual… proclivities, but at least he's predictable. Rational. Logical. He's the kind of evil humans _need_. There's something in humanity that cries out for an opponent. They always need to be fighting_something_, and if they don't have demons to fight they snap and fight each other.

Crowley is that _something_. He's the evil you know and feel comfortable condemning, the unrepentant murderer, standing with a bloody knife and announcing to all the world that he'll kill anyone who crosses him.

Dean, now… Dean's the opposite of predictable. Dean is a human with his humanity ripped away in one sharp stroke instead of the years, _decades_ of patient work it takes to make a demon in Hell.

Dean's a loose cannon. Today it was Lester, tomorrow it might be another client, or a Wendigo, or Crowley himself.

Crowley doesn't think he can kill Dean now. Dean's not yet figured out just _how _to use the power that comes with the Mark of Cain, but desperation might make him do it. Crowley needs to make very sure Dean doesn't get desperate. Not while Crowley's around, anyway.

The other option, of course…

Crowley bites back a sigh.

But, really, who else is he going to turn to? There's not a single other hunter who might do it. There's nobody who has the knowledge, the ability, and the sheer blockheaded determination that the Winchesters have about each other.

Or at least that _Sam _has about Dean.

Crowley's hand hovers over his phone, but he doesn't pick it up. He didn't get where he did by making snap decisions. Sam's strength is also going to be his weakness: he cares about his brother enough to risk anything to save him, he cares about his brother enough that he'll try his best not to do him any permanent damage.

The way Dean is now, he'll happily cut Sam's throat while the stupid moose is wibbling over not hurting his beloved big brother.

This presents a problem.

Or… does it?

_If _Crowley calls Sam, there are really only two possible outcomes. Sam's stubbornness promises that.

Outcome One: Sam will cure Dean.

Outcome Two: Sam will die.

Those are both better than the current situation.

If Sam _does _cure Dean, the boys will threaten to come after him, but they're unlikely to do it with the single-minded determination they gave Lucifer or Abaddon or Eve or Dick Roman or Azazel or any of the idiots who were all far more powerful than Crowley and are now, notably, all far more dead than Crowley. Well, except Lucifer, but being trapped in the Cage is probably as dead as an Archangel can get.

That being the case, if Sam _does _cure Dean, life will go on as it always have. Crowley will encounter the Winchesters occasionally, both sides will make threats, Crowley will see if he can make Sam turn that delightful shade of scarlet, and they'll go on their way.

If Sam dies… Crowley may have a problem, true. If there's any hope of turning Dean human again, Sam is that hope.

But… If Sam dies, it might mean Dean finally choosing a side, and coming down on the side of the demons. He would be an invaluable addition to Crowley's team.

Of course, he might actually lose whatever shred of control he still has, but if Dean's sanity is linked to Sam's life, that's bound to happen eventually. Sam's mortal, after all. Tomorrow, next year, sometime he's going to meet the monster that's too fast. If that monster just happens to be his own brother…

Unfortunate. But the risk is unavoidable.

He'll need to make Sam give him the Firstblade, of course. He needs to get that out of Dean's hands and see if there's some way to destroy the damned thing. There's a volcano on Venus that might do the trick. He thinks Sam'll give it to him without too much of a fuss. To anyone but Dean it's just a blunt bone knife. Crowley can make himself a million like it.

Crowley's hand moves closer to the phone, but he still hesitates.

If only he could be _sure_…

But there's so much he doesn't know. Sam's smart, but he's been running on adrenaline since Dean left the bunker. Is that messing with his head too much? Is he smart enough to cure Dean against his will? Is there even a spark of the old Dean left to make Dean's hand just a fraction slower when he inevitably attacks Sam? Is Sam strong enough to do what he has to do without Dean's support?

It's a gamble. Especially if he's taking the Firstblade. Dean the demon will do anything to get to it.

Sometimes you have to gamble. Even when you don't have hidden cameras or ingenious mirror-and-wineglass arrangements to let you see your opponents' cards.

And there are worse things to gamble on than Sam Winchester's determination to save his brother.

Smiling, Crowley picks up the phone.

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	3. The Hammer

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Author's Note: **I'm travelling this weekend, so I haven't had time to reply to reviews yet. I will do that this week, and I appreciate every one of them.

I owe a big thank-you to SandyDee84 and Cheryl, who gave me ideas for this (and as always, to Cheryl for the beta).

**Summary: **Tag to 10.03, _Soul Survivor_.

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><p><strong>The Hammer<strong>

Sam certainly hadn't expected that Dean would want to _talk _about what happened while he was a demon, because being _Dean _again means he thinks his man parts will shrivel up if he actually says what he's feeling. He hadn't expected them to cry on each other's shoulders or anything, but…

But…

He hadn't expected _this_.

He hadn't expected Dean to sidle around him, slinking, _skulking_, almost like he's afraid. He hadn't expected Dean to run from any sort of conversation, even the kind that involved ghosts and vampires and shtrigas.

He hadn't expected Dean to try to be invisible.

He thought at first that it was just his brother needing time to deal with everything that happened, what he did and what he almost did, but it's more than that. He knows that now.

And it has to stop.

All the bad things that have happened to them have happened at least partly because they don't communicate, they never communicate, they worry about disappointing each other and losing each other and hurting each other and never _speak _to each other.

Sam's done with that.

When Dean slips into the library one morning, sidles past Sam looking everywhere but at him, picks up a copy of the Voynich Manuscript, puts it next to Sam's elbow, and sidles out again, Sam's _really _done.

"Dean!" he calls.

Dean stops in the doorway.

"Solving puzzles is your thing right?" he says, in a voice that's too high and brittle. "I thought you might like that. You want burgers for lunch?"

"Dean –"

"Awesome. So… So you get on that. I'll come get you when it's lunchtime."

Dean disappears, the door slamming shut behind him.

Sam leafs through the book, just to make sure Dean hasn't scribbled him any notes in the margins or tucked anything into its pages. All he finds is line after line of symbols that six hundred years of cryptologists and linguists haven't been able to decipher.

Why does Dean want to know what it says, anyway? Sam didn't even know Dean knew such a thing existed.

Sam turns over the pages again.

The writing makes no sense. Just like their lives right now.

He has to talk to Dean.

He goes to find his brother, but Dean's missing. He's not in his room, not in Sam's room, not in the kitchen, not in the room they've converted into a living room, with a TV and a comfortable sofa where Sam remembers falling asleep on Dean's shoulder a lot when the trials were wearing him down.

Sam's considering where else to look when he hears a thud, and follows the noise to find Dean in one of the storerooms. He's got a drawer open and is taking something out of it.

"Dean?" Sam asks.

Dean turns.

He's holding a hammer.

_The _hammer.

Sam opens his mouth, but no sound comes out because his head's suddenly back in a scary place where Dean was chasing him down with a hammer, with _that _hammer, wanting to crack his skull open with it.

Sam can't stop the flinch.

Dean drops the hammer and reaches for Sam.

There's a crash.

Then there's silence, broken by Dean's wry, "Ow."

Ten minutes later, they're on the sofa in the makeshift living room, Dean with his left shoe and sock off and his foot in Sam's lap. Fortunately the leather and wool protected his foot. He could have shattered the bones when he dropped the hammer on it but he's going to get away with a bad bruise and limping for a few days.

Sam holds an ice pack to Dean's ankle, running his free hand up his brother's leg to rest on his knee. Dean won't admit it, but years of being thrown into walls by vengeful spirits have left him with stiff knees, and the abuse he put his body through while he was a demon probably didn't help.

Sam squeezes lightly. Dean sighs and relaxes against the arm of the sofa.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Sam asks.

"You're scared of me."

"I'm not scared of you."

"You flinched!"

There's no point denying it, so Sam doesn't try. "I'm sorry. I was startled, Dean, that's all. The last time you had that hammer… I wasn't expecting to see you with it."

"I was going to burn it. That's why I had it."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do! I could have _killed _you, Sammy. I was _going _to kill you. If Cas hadn't stopped me…"

"You didn't kill me, though. And it wasn't you, anyway. I mean, it was you, but it wasn't _you _you, it was demon you." Sam rubs Dean's knee, smiling when that makes Dean melt into the sofa a little more. "I'm here and I'm fine."

"Don't lie. You're not fine. Physically, maybe, but… You can't pretend it… it didn't bother you, Sam. What I did and what I said… I told Cole he could slit your throat. And I tried to kill you. And… And the things I said –"

Again, Sam can't keep from flinching.

He keeps his eyes on Dean's knee, not quite daring to look his brother in the face. He's almost afraid of what he'll find there. Sure, Dean was a demon when he said those things, when he blamed Sam for their mother's death and said Sam's existence sucked the life out of his life, but… What if Dean thinks that, on some level? On any level?

Sam wouldn't blame him if he did.

"Sammy."

Sam shakes his head, still massaging the kinks out of Dean's knee. "I'm not… I'm not saying it didn't bother me, Dean."

"Yeah." There's a moment of silence. "Thought so."

To postpone the moment when he'll have to look at Dean again, Sam bends to undo Dean's other shoe so he can lift Dean's leg onto the sofa and get at his right knee. Dean makes a little happy noise, but when he speaks his voice is dead serious.

"So… You stay in touch, you hear? Don't… Don't make me come looking for you."

"Sure." Sam's voice is tight. He half suspected Dean really did want him gone, isn't surprised to hear it, but it still hurts. "I'll… Yeah. Whatever you say."

There's condensation on the ice pack, soaking into Sam's jeans.

"You'll be a hotshot lawyer," Dean says, and there's something Sam can't identify in his voice. "So you can be the one to bail me out next time I get arrested."

Sam sneaks a glance at Dean.

His brother looks like his heart is breaking.

Sam barely notices the ice pack slipping from his grasp.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean opens his mouth, looking like he's going to say something stupid about chick-flick moments, but what comes out instead is, "Please don't leave me, Sammy."

"_Leave _you?" Sam feels like he's down the rabbit hole. "I thought you _wanted _me to leave!"

"You… What? _Why?_"

"You're the one who just said it!"

"I thought you wanted to go, after I almost stove your head in."

"That wasn't you!"

They stare at each other like a pair of idiots, until Dean says slowly, "So… You don't want to leave the bunker, go back to the normal world and have a wife and a career and some pansy-ass grandma car?"

"No."

"Wow." Dean sounds a little unhappy, and clearly he hears it too because the next moment he's looking up, eyes holding Sam's the way they only do when he's telling the truth and he needs Sam to believe him. "I mean… Yeah. Wow. Wow is what I mean. That's great, Sammy. No take-backs. You can't change your mind now. I get to keep you."

"Do you want to?"

"Do I… What the hell do you mean, do I want to?"

"You said…"

Sam breaks off and looks away, a guilty flush rising to his cheeks. The last thing he wants is to make Dean feel bad about what happened when he was a demon.

"Sammy?" Dean prompts.

"Nothing."

"No, come on." He feels Dean's hand on his elbow. "If it helps any, I've spent the past week scared to all hell that you wanted out. I was even trying to stay out of your way because I was hoping if you didn't see me, you'd… I don't know, forget." Dean laughs, choky and a little strained but real. "Now it turns out I could've been getting a knee rub everyday… You did mean that, Sam? That you don't want to leave?"

"I don't want to leave… Unless you want me gone."

"Why would I?"

Sam picks up a gauze bandage, choosing to ignore the question as he wraps it around Dean's foot and secures it firmly in place. Dean waits until he's done, and then wiggles his foot and grins.

"Perfect, Sammy."

Sam smiles.

"Now tell me why you thought I'd want you gone."

"I… I turned you back human, and you said you didn't want to –"

"Sam."

Sam bites his lip, running his fingers over the bandage.

"Sam. Come on." Dean's hand is on his shoulder. "Look at me, Sammy." His voice is so gentle that Sam can't help obeying. "You trust me?" Sam nods. "So tell me."

"You know perfectly well –"

"Sure I know. But you need to say it."

"You… you said… You said it's my fault Mom's gone… And…"

Sam's voice trails off. He _can't _repeat the cruel things demon Dean said and made him believe.

"Sammy," Dean urges.

Of _course _Sam trusts him, because this is the older brother he's looked up to all his life, who's looked out for him all his life, but he's still scared because what if, on some level, Dean thinks that?

"Sammy."

"You hated having to take care of me… And my existence sucked the life out of your life."

"You really think I believe that?"

"You can't tell me it's not true. Mom would've been alive if it hadn't been for me –"

"No, Mom would've been alive if it hadn't been for _her _making a demon deal when she knew better!"

"Maybe, but if I hadn't been there Azazel wouldn't have cared about us, and – and you could've had a more normal childhood, even if Mom had died anyway, Dad wouldn't have been worried about me turning darkside and you wouldn't have had to take care of me –"

"It wasn't me saying those things, Sammy."

"No, but – but –"

"But what if I'm thinking them?" Dean asks, his voice emotionless. "Fine. Let's talk about that. What is it that I could be thinking? I could be thinking that if it hadn't been for you, Mom and Dad would be alive, and Ellen and Jo, and Bobby, and Rufus, and maybe I'd have a normal life and a normal home."

"Dean –"

"And I could be thinking that if Dad hadn't made me look after your ass I'd have had more time for friends and movies and hanging out at cafes and normal high school things."

"Dean –"

"And I could be thinking I'd have been happier if you'd never been born."

"_Dean._"

Sam feels the weight of Dean's legs leave his lap. He feels a mad urge to leave, to _run_, but before he can he's grabbed and pulled into strong arms, and Dean's shoulder is firm under his cheek.

"And maybe none of that is true, because demons lie, even me when I was a demon. Maybe I don't care what the world would've been like if you hadn't been in it, because I don't want to live in a world without you in it."

"Dean –"

"I killed Lester, Sammy." Sam pulls away and looks at Dean. "Crowley sent me to kill his wife, but I killed him instead. He's dead, but Crowley didn't get his soul."

Sam can't find words for everything he wants to say. He doesn't try. He wraps his arms around Dean, and Dean hugs him back, and it feels like they're going to be OK.

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	4. Gone Bowling

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **So, yeah, this isn't really a _tag_; the only thing that links it to the episode is bro-bonding time. But whatever, I'm counting it. I was tired of the angst.

**Summary: **Sam and Dean enjoy some "we time" at a bowling alley. Tag to 10.04, _Paper Moon_.

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><p><strong>Gone Bowling<strong>

The two guys who came in looked, at first, like any of the people who visit the bowling alley on weeknights. Just a couple of dudes there to unwind after a rough day at work. I didn't think there was more to it than that, and I probably wouldn't have noticed them beyond taking their money and handing out the equipment if it hadn't been a quiet night. There was a couple playing in the furthest lane, spending more time making out than actually bowling, but other than that the room was empty.

The first guy was tall, short hair and a leather jacket and a cocky attitude. I see his type all the time, and they're some of my best customers. The second guy was _tall_, like Bigfoot-tall, and I couldn't see much of his expression behind the hair falling in his face, but he looked harmless.

"No work tomorrow?" I asked idly as the shorter one – Dean Wyatt, apparently – handed me his credit card.

"Nah." I swiped, and he signed. "We've just finished a project, we've got some down time."

"Great." I nodded to the taller one, standing behind his friend. "Have fun."

"Thanks, man," Dean said. "Come on, Sammy. Let me instruct you in the fine art of bowling."

"I know how to bowl, Dean," Sammy protested as he was led off towards the lane nearest the door, as far as possible from Mr. and Ms. PDA. "It's just physics. Like pool."

"Sure it is." Dean smacked his companion on the back. "You might be good at pool, kiddo, but bowling isn't _physics_. Bowling is a skill learnt through dedication and perseverance." Sammy rolled his eyes. Dean directed him towards the bin of balls. "Let's see if we can find one to fit that great big paw of yours."

Sammy started to sort through them, but Dean made the kind of weird tutting noise that you normally only hear about in books before he took over. He put aside a good half of the balls ("Too light, Sammy, only six-year-olds use those"… "Don't be ridiculous, Sammy, you'll get backache if you spend all night lifting that one"… "I suppose the weight's OK but I don't like the placement of the finger holes") before he finally picked out a few that apparently were neither too heavy nor too light nor too orange nor…

Maybe Dean had some kind of OCD.

But when it came to picking out his own balls he was brisk and efficient, and other than avoiding the brightly-coloured ones he didn't fuss too much.

Maybe Dean had some kind of OCD where Sam was concerned. That was weird, though; what kind of guy had OCDs about his colleagues?

Maybe there was some kind of office romance going on here.

Dean put a navy blue bowling ball in Sammy's hands (he'd been right about one thing; Sammy _did _have big hands) and pointed him in the direction of the lane. The expression on his face as soon as Sammy's back was turned was so fond, and it made him look so ridiculous in his leather jacket and army boots, that I was sure I was right. Definitely an office romance, on Dean's side at least.

Sammy backed up and took a couple of steps forward, but with his long legs even that was too far into the lane, and he slipped on the polished wood, going down hard on his rear. The ball flew out of his hand and into the gutter, rolling serenely to the end of the lane.

Dean was convulsed with laughter.

Not an office romance, then.

"Don't worry about it, kiddo," he said, still chuckling, as he helped Sammy to his feet. "You'll get better. Now just stand back and watch how it's done."

Sammy rolled his eyes, looking a little grumpy, but he stepped away. I was expecting Dean to be a good bowler – guys like him usually are – but even I wasn't expecting the strike he bowled on his first try.

Dean smirked when he caught my eye, but when he turned to Sammy his smile grew broader. If I didn't know Dean's type, I'd have said he was waiting for Sammy's applause. But people like Dean never let themselves care about anybody's approval.

Sammy grinned. "That's awesome, man."

Dean smile brightened ridiculously.

"Where'd you learn to bowl like that?" Sammy asked.

"I'm just that good." Dean walked around to give Sammy a shove from behind. "And I may have had a few lessons from Brandi."

"Who's Brandi?"

"You remember, that waitress back in Florida, with the legs and the eyes and the really red hair?"

"When we were on that…" Sammy shot me a quick glance. "When we were handling that project in Miami? I thought her name was Candice."

"Brandi, Candice, whatever." Dean shrugged. "I can't believe you remember the names of all _my _one-night stands. Or, well, two-week stands in Brandi's case."

"Candice. And, really? You were with her two whole weeks?"

"Why do you care? We need to get you some action. Anyway, she liked to hang out at the bowling alley." He clapped Sammy on the back. "Now come on. I'll show you how it's done."

Dean gave Sammy a quick demonstration of the action. Sammy improved marginally: on his second try, he released the ball _before _he landed on his behind, and it sailed down the lane about half the distance before sliding into the gutter.

Dean caught my eye and grinned.

"Little brothers, huh?"

Oh. _Brothers. _That explained it.

"So this is big-bro-little-bro bonding time?"

Dean laughed. "You could say that."

Another group came in just then, a bunch of high school kids, so I was a little distracted for the next ten minutes. When I looked back at Dean and Sammy, Sammy had finally knocked down two pins and looked a little frustrated. Dean was clearly torn between the desire to laugh and not wanting to bruise his brother's feelings. He patted Sammy's shoulder.

"Told you, Sammy. It isn't physics. Or statistics or calculus or whatever the hell you pretend poker is. No shortcuts here, only practice."

"Sure, Dean," Sammy muttered.

Dean's phone buzzed. He took it out and scowled at it. "I'm just…" He shot me a wary glance. "I'm going to take this outside. Why don't you practice a little? Do you good."

He went out. Sammy, left alone, tried another shot and ended up knocking down just one pin on the first try. On the second, the ball rolled into the gutter again. He looked so dejected, furrowing his brow and sticking out his lower lip and practically _pouting_, that I couldn't help snickering and stepping out from behind the counter.

"Hey, Sammy. You want some pointers?"

"It's Sam," he said first. Then, "Pointers? I don't think those are going to help, man."

"Trust me. Your brother's good, but I _work _here. I've seen people worse than you, and I've helped them." Sam still looked unsure. "What do you have to lose? And I can't bear to stand there watching all your shots go into the gutter. Give it a chance."

"Um…" _Sam_ glanced in the direction of the door through which Dean had gone. "Sure, yeah."

"Great." I stepped up to him. "What you have to remember is you need to make allowance for a few extra inches. So you grip the ball like this…" I showed him, putting a ball in his hand and nudging his fingers around. "And you want to let it go gently. Don't throw it. Just let it go with the movement of your arm."

It took a few tries, but eventually Sam improved a little. He'd just managed to knock down five pins with one shot – the best he'd done so far – and he was looking at me with a delighted little-boy grin. It was infectious, and I couldn't help grinning back.

"Yeah, good job. Now remember the follow-through next time."

"So you guys having fun?"

Dean's voice was right behind me. I whirled, feeling guilty. It was stupid; there was no reason why I should have felt that way. It's my job to help people.

"Dean!" Sam said, sparing me having to say anything. "Dean, I got five of them!"

Dean's expression softened into a warm smile. "Yeah, nice work, kiddo. How about you go again, so I can see it this time?"

As soon as Sam turned his back, Dean was scowling. The scowl deepened when I handed Sam a ball, and when I corrected Sam's grip he looked like he desperately wanted to murder me. I was beginning to feel a little annoyed. Sam was the size of a house, I was pretty sure he was capable of telling me himself if he didn't want my help.

Sam released cleanly, but his aim was a little off and he only got three of them. He looked a little disappointed. I started to tell him where he'd gone wrong, but Dean interrupted to muss up his hair and tell him how great he was.

"My turn," Dean said before I could offer to show Sam how to correct his mistakes.

It probably wasn't very tactful of me to offer criticisms of Dean's stance, but the truth was that he was annoying me. I'd only been trying to help Sam, and Sam had been willing to take my help. There was no reason to behave like I'd been caught trying to kidnap a child.

Dean snarled at me to mind my own business. He was angry, and it threw off his swing enough that, for the first time that evening, he had a ball roll in the gutter.

I _definitely _shouldn't have made a second offer to help him, and it was probably that that prompted Dean to growl at me and grab another ball for another try. This time Dean was so busy fuming that he overstepped, going down with a thud as his leg slid out from under him.

"Dean!" Sam was on his knees next to his brother in a moment. "Dean! Are you OK?"

Dean started to nod, looked at me, and held out his left hand to Sam. "I think I hurt my wrist. Landed on it."

"Let me see."

Standing behind Sam, even I could tell there was absolutely nothing wrong with Dean's wrist. But he hissed and muttered and grimaced as Sam prodded it gently. Sam looked up at him after a moment.

"Dean." Dean clenched his jaw and looked away. Sam shook his head. "Do you want to go back and ice this?"

Dean stared at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Come on. We can watch a movie or something. And next time we go bowling… You'll be more _careful _not to land on your _wrist_, right?"

"Tomorrow. And _I'm_ teaching you."

Sam laughed. "Sure. Come on."

They left together, bickering about which movie to watch.

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	5. Hey, Sam?

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **Many, many thanks to Cheryl for coming up with the idea for this, and for the beta.

**Summary: **While on the road, the boys have a talk. Tag to 10.05, _Fan Fiction_.

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><p><strong>Hey, Sam?<strong>

They drove a few miles in comfortable silence. The sunset had dulled to grey when Dean finally broke it.

"So… Back on the job."

Sam shot him a quick sideways glance. "Yeah. I think you're right. This is the only normal we know. I'm not… I'm not saying we should get involved in whatever's going on upstairs or anything, but… We can hunt."

"Save people," Dean said.

"Save people."

There was silence for a few more miles. Then, "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"When that thing… the scarecrow… When it grabbed you… Scared the crap out of me."

Sam smirked. "You were _worried _about me."

Dean didn't rise to the bait.

"Yeah," he said shortly. "I was. You're all I've got, Sammy. _We're _all we've got. I mean… Yeah, there's Cas and Garth and Charlie, wherever she is, and other hunters, but… That's not the same."

"No." Sam's glance flitted to the amulet replica hanging from the mirror and then to Dean. "It never was, Dean."

Dean nodded. He couldn't keep his mind from going back to another time, a time when he was angry enough with Sam that he thought he _could _replace his brother with an angel. That didn't last long, barely a second past the moment when he realized that their big plan for defeating Lucifer meant letting Sam sacrifice himself.

Yeah. Turned out not even having the entire world could make up for not having Sammy.

Dean knew how lucky he was – how lucky _they _were. They bitched and moaned about Winchester luck, but the real Winchester luck was here, in the fact that Sam was sitting in the car with him – but a respectable distance away, thank you very much, crazy subtext girl. With everything that had happened, and the approximately four million times each of them had died, they still had each other.

"Hey, Sam?"

Sam turned to look at him, a little amused and a little worried.

"What?"

"I knew you'd find a way to kill her and save them, the teacher and the kid. Don't get me wrong, I _was_ worried, and next time you let yourself get so distracted and dewy-eyed over a high school play that you let a monster get the drop on you, I'm kicking your ass."

Sam laughed. "Hey. The scarecrow got the drop on _you_ last time."

"Scarecrow didn't. Those creepy _Village _people did. And that wasn't my fault. If you'd been around to make eyes at those people with the car, we would've been done so much quicker."

"Yeah, well, I saved your ass that time."

"You did," Dean acknowledged. "Hotwired a car and everything."

Dean had never told Sam, and he probably never would, but that had been when he'd realized Sam was growing up. He'd known Sam was smart, of course, and pretty useful with a gun. He'd known that when Sam grew into his height he'd be able to kick ass with the best of them. But it had been then, when he'd heard footsteps and looked up expecting to be eaten by a monster scarecrow and seen Sammy instead, that he'd realized his baby brother was an adult, and a hunter, and the one person he could trust to have his back.

A road marker flashed by. Dean glanced at it automatically.

"Motel ahead."

"Great, we can stop there."

"Really? What happened to it not doing us any good to stare at motel room walls?"

"Unless you're planning to drive all night, we need somewhere to sleep." Dean cut his eyes at Sam, who said firmly, "No. You're not driving all night."

"I've done it before."

"When you were a lot younger –"

"_Sam!_"

"And not recovering from being a demon," Sam went on as though Dean hadn't interrupted. "I said we should get back on the job, but there's no need to overdo it. We don't have a case. We can afford to stop for the night."

Dean sighed, but nodded. Sam was right.

Neither of them spoke again until Dean was pulling up outside the motel. He went in to get them a room, leaving Sam to haul their duffels from the trunk and make sure the car was locked down.

"King?" asked the cashier as he came in.

She was in her mid-twenties, with dark hair curling around her face and pouty red lips. A few years ago – maybe even a few _weeks_ ago – Dean would've been leaning on the counter and saying things calculated to make Sam roll his eyes and kick him in the shin.

Now – now he just wanted to get that room.

"Two queens."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, we're very open-minded here. You don't have to worry about any problems of _that _kind."

Dean had to laugh. "That's great, but I still want two queens."

"Sure." She passed him a room key. "Last one on the left. Nearest people are four rooms down. You know, just in case you get noisy."

Dean choked, but he took the key.

Maybe next time he'd ask for a king, just to see the expression on Sam's face.

He gave Sam a light shove in the direction of their room, not bothering to help with the bags. If Sam thought he was getting too old to drive all night, Sam could carry his damn duffel. Maybe he'd even get himself a merit badge for it.

He unlocked the door, stepped back to let Sam in first, and followed, shutting and locking it behind him.

Neither of them spoke as they laid the salt lines and checked for hex bags.

Then, "Hey, Sam?" Sam looked at him. "What I said earlier, about knowing you'd find a way to kill Calliope – I meant it."

Sam started to get that _look _on his face, the look that usually preceded an attempt at a chick-flick moment, but all he said was, "Thanks."

Dean absolutely didn't feel a tiny twinge of disappointment.

"So… what if we don't find a case tomorrow? Not much point staying here another night."

Sam shrugged. "Go back to the bunker, I guess, and wait. Read the papers. Something'll turn up."

Go back to the bunker.

Dean couldn't help the shudder that passed through him. He'd thought the bunker was a haven, once, but it wasn't anymore. Now it was the place where he'd picked up a hammer and almost killed Sammy with it, where he _would _have killed Sammy if Cas hadn't shown up in time to stop him.

It was also the place where he had his own bedroom, and while that was absolutely awesome and he was perfectly happy not having to listen to Sam snoring, right then he couldn't stand the idea. After everything that had happened, he needed to hear Sam breathing. And Sam would probably think it was weird and creepy if Dean snuck into his bedroom in the middle of the night to listen to him breathing.

Hell, _Dean _would think it was weird and creepy if he snuck into Sam's bedroom. But he wouldn't be able to sleep if he _didn't _have proof of life from his brother.

This worked out best for everyone.

"Or we could go to Vegas instead," he suggested. "Take some time off, replenish our cash, and maybe there'll even be something for us to hunt. I bet Vegas has restless spirits at every street corner."

He waited, a little breathless, for Sam's verdict, and it was ridiculous how relieved he felt when Sam laughed and nodded.

"Vegas it is."

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